Velvet Haven

by Sophie Renwick

  “Now, if you don’t want the same treatment as your canine, start talking.”

  “Aaron,” she choked, struggling for air, “let me go.”

  “I want the fucking Oracle—now!” he raged, shaking her like a rag doll. “And if the Oracle and the book are not one and the same, I want them both. You know what I’m talking about, and don’t bother to deny it.”

  “How?” she choked out, clawing his hands.

  He laughed, squeezing tighter. “I knew one of you bitches had to have the book. I figured it was Rowan, being into the occult and all that. She was desperate enough for a fuck; it was easy to get her to let me in. But once I figured out she didn’t have it, I knew it was you.”

  “Why us?”

  “Because I was there that day in the library searching for it. And so were the two of you. Now, I want that book—”

  There was a thunderous crash behind them and Bran burst through the door. Wood splintered and cracked, flying into the air. Aaron dropped her and she fell at his feet in a heap.

  “Well, if it isn’t a little birdie.”

  Mairi could see that Bran looked as shocked as he was angry. “Who are you?” he shouted.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  Smoke clouded the room, and Mairi swore she saw the mist arise from a wand that Aaron held in his hand. She knew she wasn’t in her right mind when Bran lifted the lamp and it became a metal sword slicing through the air.

  Aaron dodged it and laughed. “Your magic is weak, Raven. But then the mortal realm is not your natural hunting ground, is it?”

  The remote control lifted into the air, changed into an arrow with a vicious-looking serrated tip. It flew across the room, hitting Aaron in the shoulder, making him roar in pain. Bran charged forward, knocking Aaron flat. Together they struggled and pummeled each other, rolling on the ground.

  She had to do something to help Bran. She reached for the baseball bat she kept hidden behind her front door, but a flash of light shook the room. Mairi saw the electrical current that seemed to crackle off Bran’s arms. Like static electricity, it zapped between the two men. Then Aaron reached out to her, the electricity a long forked line radiating from his arm. The aluminum bat she held in her hand attracted it like a magnet.

  The force of the shock sent her flying backward. Her head hit the door and she slid down. The last thing she heard was a terrifying cry, and the world went black. She felt her body twitch, her heart lurch and spasm, the electrical shock shorting out her heart rhythm.

  So this is what it’s like to die.

  Despairing, Bran cradled Mairi in his arms. He had no knowledge of mortals and their bodies. Had no healing abilities. He held her, watching helplessly as she died in his arms.

  “Come back, Mairi,” he whispered, brushing her hair away from her face. “Come back to me.”

  It was no use. She was gone. Putting his head to her chest, he listened for the beat of her heart. There was none.

  “Jesus, what the hell happened here?”

  Bran looked up to see Rhys and Keir enter through the splintered door.

  “What do mortals do when they are hurt?” he barked.

  Rhys knelt and put two fingers against her throat. “Shit! She’s got no pulse. Keir, call 911.”

  Rhys tried to pull Mairi from his arms, but Bran fought him.

  “For fuck’s sake, put her down.”

  For the first time ever, Bran actually listened to Rhys. Then he was sorry, as Rhys tore open her shirt and placed his mouth over hers.

  “CPR,” Rhys hissed at he pressed both his hands to Mairi’s breastbone. “She needs this if she’s going to live. But, shit, I think it’s too late.”

  Bran closed his eyes. His hand went to the fire opal pendant Cailleach had given him. It had protected him from the attack, but not Mairi.

  “Ambulance is coming,” Keir murmured as he got to his knees. “Here, I’ll breathe, you compress.”

  And so it went, cycles of breathing and compressing with no sign of life from Mairi.

  When the paramedics arrived they took over. They started shoving needles into her arms as two men worked on her chest and mouth. They were shouting and saying things that Bran did not understand. He only knew magic. The bounds of his world. It frightened him, this ignorance. It angered him that he could not prevent her death, or help revive her.

  “Stop! Where are you taking her?” Bran demanded as the men loaded Mairi up on a stretcher.

  “St. Mike’s.”

  “We’ll follow,” said Rhys, putting a hand on Bran’s arm. “Let them do their job,” he muttered. “It’s not like in Annwyn, where you can wave a wand. Mortals are different.”

  With a nod, Bran allowed the men to leave with Mairi. When she was gone, he looked around the apartment, which was in shambles.

  “I’ll follow the trail of blood,” Keir said. Aaron had fled once Mairi had fallen. But he was badly wounded. “I’ll report back at Velvet Haven.”

  “Oh, Christ,” Rhys said. “Look at this.”

  Bran went behind the couch and saw the dead body, all hollowed out except for the skin. “That’s how he got inside. He used the skin of someone Mairi knew.”

  “Whose body is it?”

  “Dr. M. Sanchez,” Bran read from the plastic ID card.

  “Who the hell did the skinning?”

  “The same person who butchered the woman in the alley.”

  The thought of Mairi’s sweet body carved like that made his blood run cold. If he hadn’t arrived when he did, he would surely have her found her that way.

  “Well, c’mon, I’ll take you to the hospital. I’ll send someone from the club to replace the door and secure the apartment just in case . . .” Rhys coughed and looked away.

  “She will make it,” Bran said quietly. “She will make it,” he growled, this time louder and more forceful. “And I have the thing that will ensure she does.” Then, crossing the room, he picked up the limp body of Clancy. “Take me to Suriel.”

  Suriel looked down from the railing he was perched on and laughed at the sight of Bran holding a large dog.

  “I need your help, Suriel.”

  “Allow me to throw your words back in your face. Fuck you.”

  “I know what you are.”

  “So?” he said with a derisive snort.

  “You’re the angel of Death and Resurrection.” Suriel’s black eyes narrowed. “They say that you were there the day they nailed Christ to the cross. You sat at his feet and when it was time, with your left hand, you facilitated his death, and on the third day, you resurrected him with your right.”

  Suriel jumped down, his wings unfurling as he landed. “Urban legend,” he said with a smirk. “Never believe what the crackheads and heroin whores tell you.”

  “It’s true, isn’t it?”

  Suriel shrugged his shoulders. “What do you care?”

  “I need your help. I’m . . . willing to pay for it.”

  Suriel glanced at the dog. “I don’t do animals,” he said with a sneer.

  “This is important.”

  “Sorry. Can’t stay and chat, I’ve got a meth overdose to decide what to do with.”

  Bran watched Suriel’s wings furl and disappear beneath the long leather trench he wore. “I’ll give you what you want.”

  That stopped the bastard in his tracks. Bran held his breath. Mairi had saved him from certain death. She’d shared her body with him, giving him energy, giving him his magic. She’d given all of herself to him, and he would save her. Even though one day she might fulfill the prophecy and kill him.

  Suriel circled around him, watching him with his fathomless black eyes. “If you’re bullshitting me, I’ll kill you.”

  “I’m not. I will give you the book you seek in payment for Mairi’s life. And the dog’s,” he added. Mairi loved this dog.

  “I also require access to Mairi. She can decipher the prophecy the Scribe has written in it.”

  “Resurrect the do
g and save Mairi, and I will give you this book you seek.” Cailleach would strip him of his flesh if she discovered his treason, but it was Mairi he was worrying about now, not his own hide. Cailleach, for all he cared, could battle it out with Suriel herself if she wanted the damn book so bad.

  Suriel waved his right hand over the dog, murmuring an incantation as he did so. Slowly, a shimmering vapor rose from Clancy’s body and twisted, arching into a sphere before it lowered. With a small whimper, the dog took a breath and looked up at him.

  “It’s done. Now to the woman.”

  Stunned, Bran lowered himself to the ground and watched Clancy take a few unsteady steps. “How—”

  “No questions,” Suriel said, circling him. “You must know that once someone is reincarnated they come back as . . . something different.”

  Bran narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “They are not the same as before they died. Are you prepared for that, Sidhe, that your Mairi might be someone totally different?”

  “I want her alive,” he growled with everything in his heart. “I don’t care if she changes, I just want her . . .” In my life, he silently whispered.

  “Good. Now close your eyes, Sidhe, and let me go to work.”

  Bran’s whole body stiffened in shock. He felt his eyes go wide; his body arched, then froze, his arms stiff at his sides as though he were paralyzed.

  “What in the fuck are you doing?” Bran rasped as he felt Suriel’s hand grip his neck.

  “Look into my eyes. I need to see what you saw.”

  Suriel made a growling sound, and Bran felt his body grow limp and weak as their gazes locked. Bran felt Suriel probing his mind, pulling at memories. The fight with Mairi’s attacker flooded forward, and he saw Suriel’s pupils dilate. Then suddenly Suriel’s black wings unfurled, caging Bran against the wall. Bran became aware of Suriel’s body, the way it seemed to charge; the vibe coming off him was almost electric, but Bran had no time to think further; Suriel had him by the throat, his fingers biting into his skin.

  “Go to St. Mike’s. And if you don’t cough up the book, I’ll do more than just fucking kill you, you got that? I’ll torture you. You got my vow on that, Sidhe. You’ve made a pact, and I intend to see you fulfill it.”

  “What did you see?” he demanded as Suriel straightened away from him.

  “A brother,” he spat, shaking his head. “I don’t know which one. I couldn’t see his mark. It’s not Uriel, but Christ, it’s an angel,” Suriel rasped. “But he’s not working alone. He can’t be.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because our powers are limited in Annwyn, like yours are limited in this realm. We can’t just stride into your world and start commanding magic. We have to be invited. Besides, black magick isn’t our specialty—that’s your world.”

  “Well, who the fuck invited him into Annwyn?”

  Suriel glared at him. “How the hell should I know? But at least now we’ve got a lead. There’s two forces here, one angelic, one immortal. Power and knowledge from both realms. Powerful beings working together. You do know what that means, don’t you?”

  Bran pressed his eyes shut. “Looks like I’m stuck with you.”

  Suriel watched Bran leave the hell he called home. As he rounded the corner, Suriel stepped back into the shadows of a building. An addict, stoned from the needle that jutted out of his arm, looked up at him, his mouth hanging open in shock.

  “What the fuck are you looking at?” he growled, pressing against the bricks, melding into them so he could disappear into the spiritual plane.

  Closing his eyes, Suriel concentrated not on the addict, or the miserable conditions of his own existence, but on Mairi, whose energy he sensed was fading.

  He had foreseen Mairi’s fate. Been told to allow it, to let her go. Not in a vision from Him this time. It was Gabriel. And he hated that ass-kissing brother. Gabriel was a two-faced son of a bitch, and Suriel had known from the moment his pure white wings touched the filth of the street that he was stirring shit.

  So he had waited for Bran to come to him, for Bran to need him. Suriel would much rather cast his lot in with Bran than Gabriel. After all, it was Gabriel who had sentenced him to this fate. And it would be a cold damn day in hell before Suriel did anything to please him.

  Now with this new revelation he had seen in Bran’s memories, Suriel was more convinced than ever that it was Gabriel who wanted Mairi dead. Not the Boss upstairs. Therefore, Suriel was going to give her life. In the end, everyone was going to get what they wanted. Bran would have Mairi, Mairi would understand her powers, and Suriel would find his redemption.

  His body misted, became particles on the wind, and he flew in spirit for the emergency room of St. Michael’s hospital.

  Dying wasn’t anywhere near as painful or terrifying as Mairi expected. It was quiet, dark—peaceful. She hovered, like in that old movie Coma, when the patients hung prone, suspended from the ceiling, unmoving, unseeing.

  There was no pain, despite knowing that the defibrillator was gearing up yet again, ready to shock her.

  “Clear!”

  She heard the warning, heard Dr. Bartlett snarl, “C’mon, Mairi, respond! Louise, crank it up to twenty-five joules. Shit.” He panted as he pounded on her chest while the defibrillator recharged.

  “What do we have? Anything?”

  “No, still asystole.”

  Mairi wanted to tell him it was okay, that she was peaceful, and while she would have preferred to go later, or at least have the chance to say good-bye, she was strangely good with this new state. It was . . . inviting. She heard someone calling to her, and she wanted to discover who it was.

  “Clear!”

  They said hearing was the last sense to go, and now Mairi had proof. She couldn’t feel a damn thing, but she could hear everything.

  “Mairi?”

  Mairi turned her head to the sound of a dark voice. She wasn’t alone. She felt the presence of another hovering close by.

  “I’m here,” the voice said. It was deep, masculine, hypnotic. Mairi turned her head to the sound and saw the man from last night’s dream.

  “It’s all right, you’re safe with me.”

  “Suriel?” she asked incredulously.

  He smiled, then jumped down from the invisible ledge he was crouching on, his long leather trench flapping behind him, his army boots landing silently on an indistinguishable floor.

  “Why are you here?”

  “I told you I would come to you. And here I am.”

  “I’m . . . dead,” she whispered, and then the tears came.

  “Shh.” He came and stood beside her. She was lying down on what felt like a feather mattress and she had to crane her neck to look up at him. “Easy.”

  Reaching for his arm, she let her fingertips rest against the sleeve of his leather trench. He tingled with an aura she had never felt before.

  “You feel . . . different. Nice.”

  His gaze slid from where her fingers rested on his forearm and rose slowly to her face. His dark eyes had taken on a strange glistening. No longer could she see his pupils. His eyes were now just large black circles as he looked down at her.

  The energy from him intensified and she closed her eyes, savoring it as though it were a touch from him.

  “Are you an angel?” she asked, starting to feel the heaviness in her body take over.

  “Something like that.”

  “You were in my dream last night.”

  “Yes. But not your dream. I was actually there.”

  “You don’t look like an angel,” she said, frowning as she looked up through a gossamer veil that had lowered onto her face. She took in his size, his broad chest and shoulders, not to mention the black leather, and gave a small grin. “You look more like the devil.”

  “Yeah, I’m that, too.”

  “Is this real? Or are you just a figment of my mind?” Mairi felt a fluttering against her hand and saw that one long finger w
as stroking her knuckle. “Are you taking me to heaven or hell?”

  “Neither.”

  “Purgatory, then?”

  He laughed and reached for her hand. “He has a use for you. There is another who needs you, too.”

  Mairi closed her eyes. “Rowan?”

  “Bran.” His fingers gently traced the scars on her wrist. “You’ve suffered, haven’t you?” he asked as his thumb brushed along the scars. “You’ve known a deep darkness. You’ve known what it is like to be cast out, to be different, to discover what truly lurks inside you.”

  She tried to wrench free of his hold, but he gripped her tighter. “How did you know—” She stopped herself before she could say more. She’d never spoken of that night. Never told a soul what she’d heard, what she felt.

  “You never told anyone because you knew no one would believe you. How could they?” he asked as he continued to brush his thumb along the old wounds. “Did you know what they were, Mairi? Did you know that these marks were stigmata? That you had taken someone else’s pain and desperation and saved them from it?”

  Mairi looked down at her wrist. She had not inflicted those wounds. They had been someone else’s marks, someone else’s pain. And yet her own blood had spilled, coloring the bathwater crimson. It had been her flesh that had to be sewn shut. But she had never tried to kill herself. And no one knew that, except now. Except Suriel. Somehow, Suriel had discovered the truth.

  “When Rowan . . .” Mairi took a breath. “Were you there that night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  His mouth curved into a humorless smile. “Because I am the Angel of Death.”

  She cried out in a strangled voice that was part fear, part pity.

  “I was supposed to take her, after that bastard was done with her. But then I saw you, saw you in pain.”

  “It was your voice,” Mairi whispered. “I heard it that night. I heard it the night at the club. You told me to . . . cut myself.”

  “To save your friend. To show you your gift. But you ran from it. You fear it.”

  “What gift?”

  “The gift He had me bestow upon you with my breath. You are a healer, Mairi.”